


dead pigeon don't consume

by Mary_Sue_Donym



Category: The Black Book/The Reign of Terror (1949)
Genre: Crack, Cursed, Danton is only mentioned though, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, NO HISTORICAL ACCURACY. NONE. NOT ONE SINGLE OUNCE., do not even THINK about history while reading this., for the love of that poor dove i killed, it's even worse than the movie, the dove is rotted and has been poisoned! you don't want to eat it!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Sue_Donym/pseuds/Mary_Sue_Donym
Summary: Okay . . . So in the wondrous monstrosity of a movie I'm writing this for, a childish and sadistic caricature of Saint-Just says of his co-Thermidorian-parody Robespierre, "He doesn't like women." (then he proceeds to laugh homophobically . . . this movie is pretty old) And I thought to myself: but how would he know that??? Well here goes the explanation. Enjoy at your own risk.
Relationships: Maximilien Robespierre/Louis Antoine de Saint-Just
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6





	dead pigeon don't consume

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't heard, this is not historically accurate. This is based off the movie's version of the historical figures, (which is pretty not correct by the way) not them themselves.

Max was innocently feeding pigeons when the knock came. “Enter,” he shouted. He was going to give a cursory glance at the interloper, but couldn’t help but stare at the man as he closed the door behind him. He was tall - well, taller than Max, which most men were - dark - well, he was white, but through his eyes Max thought he could see a darkness in his soul - and handsome. Absurdly so. Gorgeous. Dashing in his sky high cravat . . . harsh cheekbones . . . gentle lips . . .

“Saint-Just is the name, and killing’s my game. As a Convention member I’ve only gotten to vote to execute the king, so I’d like to be on the Committee of Public Safety now that I’m old enough. Our political leanings are similar, so would you please endorse me?”

“Oh! You were the one who wrote me that sexy letter!”

“Sexy?”

“I got so hard reading it.”

“Oh . . . I just assumed that was how respectable people of this century wrote letters.”

“So it was all lies? You don’t know me as you know the Supreme Being, through my miracles . . . ?”

“Not a lie! I’m just surprised you’d use that word - sexy.”

“But everything about you is sexy, isn’t it?” Max leaned forward, elbows on his desk. Saint-Just, by then, was sitting on the side of the desk, and raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Your writing, your bearing, your voice . . . I bet your body is sexy too.”

The younger man’s lips parted in surprise. “Oh my Supreme Being, you’re gay!”

“Only in the homosexual sense.” This clever wordplay implying a lack of happiness was lost on the French man, who spoke French, not English. In fact, the speaker also did not understand his own witticism. He shook off his confusion and continued: “Don’t tell Danton. He might guillotine me or tease me.”

“So - will you endorse me?”

“I dunno. You’re pretty and young. I mean, you’re pretty young. Maybe too young.”

“What if I kissed you?”

“How dare you even insinuate that I would abuse my popular influence and sully my virtue for anything less than a blow job!”

“Make out?”

“Deal.”

Saint-Just yanked the smaller man up before he could say anything else and shoved him to the wall. Then Max could feel those soft, sweet lips on him - his mouth, cheek, neck . . . He was held up by his armpits for a bit, but at some point was readjusted so that one arm held his knees up as the other curled around his back. A hand brushed his hip and he shuddered.

“My dirty little boy, are you satisfied yet?” purred in his ear before it was bitten roughly.

“ _Oui,”_ Max whispered, which is pronounced ‘whee’ and means ‘yes’ in French. He was gently placed on his desk, and felt a strong hand patting his wig, careful not to rustle it.

“I won’t let Danton hurt you,” hummed the melodious voice, and then he was gone.

Max scrambled to get his journal. _Hotties to totally bang_ was the title he was too terrified to put to paper, so he let everyone think it was a hit list. _Saint-Just,_ he added, and underlined the name. This was one to remember.


End file.
